The Note
by psych-itssupernatural
Summary: Set after Faith. I felt like Sam had a little more mourning to do after Jess, and there were some unresolved feelings. Plus I love some good brotherly love, and angst.


Dean was 16 when he found the first one.

Hidden in Sam's pillow case, it fell out after a particularly harsh nightmare. Written in an old pen, the ink smeared and letters running together, there were scribbles where words had been changed and rewritten, carefully thought out. Dean had held it in his hand, and wanted to cry. His mind screamed at him that this, this little scrap of paper and all it possessed, all it stood for, was his fault. He had wanted to hug Sam, wrap the kid in blankets and spoon feed for the rest of his life. He had wanted to punch someone, to blame a school bully, or a supernatural creature. He wanted it to be because of a spell, or a cursed object. Something that, if he destroyed it, would make the problem go away. Reading it, he had wanted to stop the hunt. Right then and there, quit everything, and drag Sam away from this life. Put the kid in a suburban house, with a white picket fence, get him a dog and a swing-set. Yet, in the back of his mind, he was reminded of their crusade, and so instead, he turned to his teenage trademark…humor.

He had laughed and told Sam that "if you ever pull crap like this again, I'll kill you myself." He had ruffled the 12 year old's hair and Sam laughed with him, hugged his brother tight and promised.

"It was a mistake Dean, I won't do it again," Sam had clutched tightly at his older brother. Yet, even though Sam had promised, Dean still had felt like a part of him was broken. Still, Winchesters didn't do feelings, so Dean had returned the hug, holding onto Sam like his life depended on it, and then when Sam was sitting in the dingy motel room, Dean had promptly went and slammed his fist into the nearest wall.

The second one was four years later.

After a hard hunt for a poltergeist, all three Winchesters were exhausted and starving. Dean had drawn the short straw and was elected to record the hunt in John's journal and clean the weapons while Sam and John had gone for a food run to the greasy spoon diner down the street.

Dean had been digging through Sam's backpack looking for a pen, when tucked deep behind history papers and algebra homework, he found it.

This one had been sloppy, quickly written out, as if in a moment of deep, deep sorrow.

When he had read it, Dean had wanted to weep for his brother. He had reminded himself, no chick-flick moments, no signs of weakness, stuff the feelings, and so that night after John had excused himself to take a shower, and Sam was researching the next hunt, he had confronted him and used the John Winchester lecture to set the kid straight.

 _Damn, he had thought that problem was solved. Hadn't Sammy promised?_ After Sam once again told him "it was a mistake, and I didn't mean it," Dean had told his Dad some BS about some girl he had promised to see, and then made his way to the nearest bar. He had downed multiple beers and at least 5 shots of something he couldn't pronounce, before he had felt that warm, familiar fuzzy feeling, or lack of a feeling.

The final one was after Jess.

After the fire. After Dan pulled Sam back into the life of hunting. Sam was living in a state of constant sleep deprivation. Hell, Dean wasn't even sure Sam was sleeping. Every night Sam would wake in a cold sweat, panting and screaming Jess's name, yelling for Dean to help her. Yet when Dean would ask Sam if he was ok, Sam would sniff, and mumble "yeah, I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep." The circles grew beneath Sam's eyes, he stopped eating, his clothes now hanging off him as he became skinnier.

Sam, the lively, vibrant Sam that Dean had tried so hard to keep alive disappeared. The Sam Dean had raised, the candle of happiness in Dean's otherwise dark world, was gone. Sam stopped living and merely existed, turning himself off, surviving on autopilot. Sam hunted when Dean told him to hunt, sat when Dean told him to sit. It was as if Sam couldn't function without an order, he would stand looking like a child unless Dean told him to do something.

Sam clammed up at the first mention of feelings. Dean had dropped his usual rules, and offered to be a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen. Yet Sam always shrugged him off, softly whispering that "I'm ok Dean, I don't need you to baby me." It got to the point where Dean would have cried himself if Sam had wanted to have a chick-flick moment.

Sam would pass out every so often in the car, only to waken in the throes of a nightmare or when they stopped for gas. Dean listened to his despairing, heartbroken sobs that wracked Sam when he actually did doze off for a few minutes. These sobs broke his heart, he wasn't aware a person could sound so full of misery. Dean had to make excuses just to stop at a motel anymore. Sam would want to keep driving, to continue until they hit a case. When they finished a hunt, he would recklessly dive into the next one. It was common for Dean to wake in the middle of the night to find Sam staring at his laptop researching, the soft glow making his face seem even skinnier and paler.

After a hard hunt for a rugaru, Dean forced Sam to stop for the night. It took some convincing and yeah, maybe he had to lie about the amount of injuries he sustained, but it worked. It was still early, so Dean decided to catch up on some cleaning while Sam (hopefully) dozed in the room. His baby was getting a little dirty from the extra passenger, and it had been awhile since he had paid his car the proper attention she deserved.

He was digging through the trash-filled backseat when he found it.

Hidden in the seat, it was squished, crumpled and written in Sam's slanted handwriting.

 **Dean, I am so sorry. I'm sorry for leaving you and someday, I hope you realize why, I hope you forgive me. Please…please understand. I…I just can't. Can't sleep, can't eat, can't talk, can't breathe, I can't keep living this way. I miss her so much, and it's my fault. I should have protected her, just like I should have protected you. I've hurt you so much Dean. I left and you almost were killed by a scarecrow. The time I tried to help with your heart…god, Dean, I brought you to a person with a reaper on a leash. A professional murderer, a serial killer, they just did it with supernatural help. I let you believe that it was your fault, and I know you blame yourself. But blame me, it doesn't matter, I'm the reason those people are dead. And yet, still knowing that, I wouldn't change anything. I would still take you there, because Dean, I couldn't lose you. Not you too. I should have realized that everywhere I go, death and sorrow follow. Mom, god Dean, I'm so sorry. I took her, I took your mom and your childhood. It was me. I see that now. I'm the reason Jess and mom is dead. The reason dad left. The reason you have to risk your life every day. I'm a freak, a monster…I'm so sorry. So goodbye, and thank you. For believing in me. For raising me. For being my big brother, you jerk. Lame as it might sound, I love you dude. Always will. Now please, find dad and live YOUR life. Maybe this thing will stop with me. Just take care of yourself. Promise me.**

 **Sam**

In that motel parking lot, Dean sank to his knees. "Sammy why?" he buried his face in his hand, crumpling the note up. "Sam!" He remembered Sam alone in the motel room, _what if it was too late? What if Sam had followed through?_ Dean bolted to his fee, and raced towards the motel room, cursing himself as he fumbled with the key. Hearing the lock disengage, he tore open the door, nearly ripping it off its hinges in the process.

Sam was seated on his bed, laptop in hand, papers spread across the bed, obviously researching a case. "Dean?" he looked up, a confused expression on his face, his hazel eyes searching for some reason why Dean was yelling his name and acting like a maniac. Dean tossed the balled up note onto his lap, watching as Sam slowly opened it and scanned the writing. "Ummm, ha, whattt's that…?" Sam's eyes darted to the floor, suddenly afraid to look at Dean. He stared at the laptop with a look so concentrated, Dean was afraid it was going to burst into flames.

"I don't know Sam, you tell me." Dean slowly walked forward. "Sammy?" he softened his voice, "why?"

Sam swallowed, and dropped his face into his hands, "I'm sorry, I just couldn't…I can't, I need, I mean, you… it's just best." The last part was said so quietly Dean almost wasn't sure he heard it. Sam sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. "It's just best, Dean."

"For who?" Dean managed to keep his voice even. "Best for who, Sammy?" Dean slowly lowered himself onto the bed next to Sam, ignoring the fact that the bed was still made, and Sam had obviously not slept at all.

"Everyone, for you, dad…ha", Sam gave a humorless laugh, "the world…" His voiced dropped to almost a whisper. "Everywhere I go, everyone I love, they just get hurt. Because of me. And I can't," his voice cracked. "I can't let anyone else die… for me." He suddenly drilled Dean with a stare so full of hurt and despair that Dean felt the sorrow. "Who's gonna be next, Dean? You? Dad?" His voice rose to almost hysterics, "I won't let you die for me Dean, I can't lose you." With that, Sam glanced back down at his boots, "not you too."

"Sam," Dean grabbed Sam's jaw and forced him to look him in the eyes. "You. Are. Not. At. Fault." Dean willed his brother to believe him, he was desperate for Sammy to understand. "Nothing. That. Has. Happened. Is. Because. Of. You." Dean wrapped an arm around Sam, pushing the laptop to the side in order to tuck Sam into his side. He spoke with so much conviction, Sam began to sob silently, his skinny frame shaking as he turned into Dean's embrace. "Sammy, you aren't a monster or a freak. You are my baby brother." Dean felt tears well up in his own eyes, "I'm not going to leave you, or give up on you. Don't you ever thing that I wouldn't give up anything for you. Or that you are responsible for mom, or Jess, or anything else that has happened to our family. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault."

Dean hugged his sobbing brother tighter. Sam had tried to carry the world on his shoulders and it had finally proven too heavy. He felt tears slowly leak from his own eyes and felt Sam shake in his arms. _Screw no chick-flick moments. Sam needed him._ If his brother was broken, then Dean was sure as hell going to keep those pieces from getting lost. He clutched his sibling and quietly spoke, "Sammy, I promise. I will never leave. We will find dad, and Jessica's killer. I promise Sam." As he spoke those words to Sam, he silently made himself another vow. _And you will have a family Sam. I'm going to make sure this isn't always your life. I promise Sammy._

He wrapped his arms a little tighter around Sam, "and little bro, between you and me, let's go get you a sandwich. Your elbows are sharp."

He felt Sam shake as he quietly chuckled through sobs. "Jerk."

Dean smiled, _Sammy would come back. They were going to be alright._ "Bitch."


End file.
